


Christmas for Lovesick Bastards

by therumjournals



Series: Merry Fucking Christmas [4]
Category: Star Trek XI
Genre: Christmas, Community: space_wrapped, Holidays, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therumjournals/pseuds/therumjournals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I was going to marry Jim Kirk on Christmas if it's the last goddamned thing I did.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas for Lovesick Bastards

The atmosphere on the Enterprise felt heavy with subdued anticipation as I walked quickly through the corridors that would take me back to sickbay. I'd managed to stop myself from breaking into a run, but I was so distracted that I only narrowly avoided crashing into Lieutenant Sulu as I rounded a corner. The near collision caught us both off guard, and I watched in confusion as Sulu's mouth twisted into an apologetic grimace. It was only then that I noticed Chekov behind him, and the sizable fir tree that they carried between them.

"Doc, I'm sorry..." Sulu stammered, and I saw that Chekov was also watching me with a worried expression. I reached out and gave Sulu what I hoped was a reassuring pat on his shoulder.

"Don't be," I told him. "The crew needs this." I held his eye until he nodded at me in understanding, then I let go and hurried past them, my eyes stinging as the sharp scent of pine filled the air.

The hiss of the door and the smell of disinfectant in the air were almost a relief to me as I entered sickbay - my heaven and my hell for the past three weeks. My heaven, because Jim was here. My hell, because he wouldn't wake up.

I nodded at Dr. M'Benga as I crossed the room, heading straight for my place at the side of Jim's biobed. This time, I actually smiled when I saw the festive strings of colored lights fastened around the edges and draped artfully and non-intrusively across the instrument panels.

It had been quite a different story when I'd first seen them six hours ago.

I'd been running on fumes after days of ceaseless vigilance, interspersed with increasingly desperate attempts at finding a way to bring Jim back from a coma that should have lifted weeks ago. Christine pushed me into my office and told me not to come out until I'd eaten the oatmeal and orange juice that she'd set on my desk. I wolfed them down while sending yet another frantic email to Starfleet Medical, outlining what we'd done so far and demanding suggestions, experimental drugs, anything, _anything_ that would wake Jim the fuck up, that would bring him back to me. I hit send, swallowed the last bite of oatmeal, and stormed back into sickbay, only to be met with the sight of cheerfully blinking Christmas lights surrounding Jim, and two shiny wrapped presents sitting on the table beside him. I stopped in my tracks, my emotions reeling. The look on my face must have betrayed me, because suddenly Christine was beside me with her hand on my arm, murmuring an explanation.

"I wanted to do something...I know how much Jim loves Christmas, and I just thought -"

I swallowed hard, grasping desperately for something gruff and sarcastic to say, but nothing came. I didn't know whether to yell at her or thank her, so when she turned me towards her to wrap me in her arms, I just sagged against her and sobbed. Tears streamed down my face, my chest heaving as I sucked in stuttering breaths like a newborn.

Afterwards, she took my face in her hands and told me in no uncertain terms to go back to my quarters, to sleep for a little while and clean myself up, and not to come back until I was rested. I went without complaint, detouring only to squeeze Jim's hand and give him a kiss on the forehead, run my hand through his hair and promise that I would be back soon, to spend Christmas Eve by his side.

Our quarters was a mess, had been for the past three and a half weeks. I’d been chiding Jim about it the morning we entered Calth’s orbit, reminding him that putting his clean boxers in one pile and his dirty ones in another did NOT count as cleaning. With a smirk, Jim had offered to spend the next 30 minutes cleaning before he went to meet the away team – that is, he’d said with a wink, unless I could think of a better use of our time?

There’ve been times I wanted to hold my ground, wanted to _not_ be drawn in by those seductive blue eyes and miles of bare skin stretched across our already-rumpled sheets - but this wasn’t one of them. I was on him in a second, covering his body with mine as another pair of boxers landed neatly in the dirty pile.

He’d promised, as he was leaving, that he’d help me straighten up when he got back from Calth, and the sincerity in his voice, the fact that he’d even _remembered_ our earlier conversation, sent a flood of warmth through me. Who would ever have guessed that the day would arrive when Jim Kirk promising to pick his laundry up off the floor would get me hotter than any of the four, rather acrobatic, sexual positions that we’d gone through in the past 30 minutes.

Well, Chapel probably could have guessed. Probably Uhura, too. Okay, maybe it wasn’t all that surprising.

But Jim hadn’t been able to fulfill his promise, because eight hours later Sulu was screaming for an emergency beam up, and I was running for the transporter room with Christine on my heels. They’d materialized on the transporter pad, Jim and Spock crumpled on the ground, unconscious, Sulu crouched over them with a look of horror on his face as blood poured from their wounds. Red and green and bright, too bright, and I couldn’t help but think, with an alarming sense of detachment, that if the circumstances were different, it would have looked almost festive…

*  
/ \  
/   \

For two weeks, Jim’s body had healed under my care. For the first week, I'd been almost happy that he wasn’t awake for this, for what I knew had to be a painful and frustrating recovery. When his coma continued into the second week, I'd begun to worry, had focused my medical expertise on bringing him out of it, but to no avail. I kept myself focused on the medical aspects - with any other patient, the coma would have just been another barrier to overcome, but this time, it was personal, and at night I sat beside him, missing him something fierce and willing him to open his eyes.

And now more than three weeks had passed, and I was still trying, though the list of remaining options grew shorter and shorter. I’d had patients in comas before, and I knew they could last months, even years, and still wake up on the other side. But I was desperate and selfish, and I wanted Jim back in time for Christmas.

I wanted him back in time for our wedding.

*  
/ \  
/   \

Christine had been right, the rest _had_ helped. I settled into my chair beside Jim’s bed, the one that was now permanently molded to the shape of my ass, and I thought of how happy Jim would be if he woke up right now. Christmas lights twinkled all around him, and the air smelled faintly of pine, which I must have carried into the sickbay with me after brushing past Sulu’s tree in the hall. Hell, there was even a present already waiting for him right there on his bedside table.

My eyes flicked automatically to the biobed readouts, the squiggly lines and lists of numbers that had been a source of both reassurance and frustration over the past few weeks, promising me that Jim was alive, but just beyond my reach. No change tonight, I observed with a sigh, watching the lines move sluggishly across the screen, as though his brainwaves had settled in for a long winter’s nap.

I leaned forward and brushed a lock of his hair back from his forehead. “Those had better be visions of me dancin’ in your head, sugar plum,” I joked. But my heart ached, and I couldn’t keep my tone light for long.

“Come on, Jim,” I whispered. “Wake up. It’s Christmas Eve.”

No reaction, not that I’d been expecting one. Still, I had to try. I’d tried all the medical tricks I could come up with, including a fair amount of alien voodoo that would have gotten me laughed out of the more reputable med schools. At night, when we were alone in the darkness of sickbay, I’d murmured prayers and offered deals to every god and higher being I could think of- wait.

“Dear Santa,” I mumbled, “All I want for Christmas is for Jim to wake up. Please. Love, Len H. McCoy, Georgia.”

Okay, _now_ I’d tried everything.

I glanced at the chronometer beside Jim’s bed. It was 19:00 on Christmas Eve. There was only one thing to do now.

I held on to Jim’s hand with one of mine, and with the other I opened the book that I’d brought with me, clutched against my side to hide it from prying eyes as I’d walked here from our quarters. I opened to a random page, sighing and rolling my eyes just as I’d be doing if Jim were awake.

"Okay, Jim,” I started, injecting some false cheeriness into my voice, “this one is called _The Sexiest Elf_ \- oh hell no. I'll leave that one to Uhura." I turned the page. “This one’s in Andorian…how ‘bout I skip this one, too, and spare you my terrible pronunciation. Plus,” I added, my eyes widening as I skimmed down the page, recognizing a few of the more obscure anatomical terms from my xenobiology classes, “okay, yeah, this is just not appropriate in _any_ language.”

I turned a few more pages, letting my mind wander to the warmth of Jim’s palm beneath my fingers, where the light but regular rhythm of his pulse comforted me. Ah, here we go. “This one seems promising.” I straightened up and cleared my throat.

“ _Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my loins…_ \- Oh Christ.” I almost stopped, but made myself continue reading, even going so far as to drop into my “sexy voice” on the stanzas I knew Jim would enjoy the most.

_He spoke not a word, but went straight for my gift,_  
Stripped off all his clothes, gave my hips a slight lift  
Then staring intently, his eyes full of lust  
And giving a grunt, up my chimney he thrust! 

I heard a sound from the bed and nearly dropped the book in surprise as I glanced up to see Jim watching me with one eye open. I felt a light squeeze on my hand as he gave another dry cough. “Keep going,” he rasped, with what I swear was an attempt at a smirk.

“Jim!” I was on my feet, my heart beating wildly as I looked frantically from his face to the biobed screen and back again, not even knowing what to do first. Yes I did – fuck the readouts. I leaned down and kissed him gently, resting my lips against his, my hand coming up automatically to cup his cheek. I pulled away to look into his eyes, the blue much paler than I remembered, but I could see the spark slowly returning to them.

“What happened?”

“You were hurt…you’ve been in a coma…it’s been over three weeks, Jim.”

Concern crinkled his forehead. “Did I miss it?”

I smiled. Shoulda known that the first thing Jim would ask about would be Christmas.

“Our wedding – did I miss it?”

I melted like a snowman in Georgia, a tear sliding down my cheek as I shook my head. “No, darlin’. You didn’t miss it,” I whispered. His relieved smile was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I told him to rest while I checked his vitals. “Try not to talk for a little while, until we get you some water.” He nodded, and let his eyes slide closed, and the fact that he hadn’t even uttered one sarcastic word of protest almost broke my heart all over again.

He drifted in and out of sleep as Chapel and I ran a full diagnostic. I hardly trusted my own ability to interpret what I was seeing, and I waited with bated breath as Christine read the results for the third time before meeting my eyes with a smile and a nod of reassurance. I laughed with relief and stepped forward to embrace her, hoping that the force of my hug conveyed my thanks, because I was too choked up to speak.

Which was of course the moment that about five different warning alarms started beeping wildly on Jim’s bed. A spike of fear shot through me, adrenaline throwing me into action, and I was calling for M’Benga and reaching for my hyposprays before I even glanced down at the bed. But it was only Jim struggling to prop himself up on an elbow to get a closer look at the twinkling lights strung around the bed that had thrown the censors into a tizzy. I caught him and helped him sit up a little, sitting behind him on the bed so he could lean on me as he looked around.

“Sorry,” he whispered sheepishly, as Chapel and M’Benga glared at both of us.

“S’okay,” I said, wrapping my arms around him gently.

“They’re beautiful,” Jim said, tracing the string of lights with his eyes.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” I told him.

“I woke up just in time. Someone must be looking out for me.”

“Santa?”

He reached up to touch my cheek. “You.”

*  
/ \  
/   \

As his attending physician, I gave myself permission to stretch out along the biobed beside him (we’ll call it a new experimental treatment). I didn’t want to leave him, but we both needed to rest. Maybe it wouldn’t be the big wedding we’d planned - hell, maybe we wouldn’t even make it out of sickbay - but I was going to marry Jim Kirk on Christmas if it's the last goddamned thing I did.

I looped my fingers loosely around his wrist, and as I had so many times over the past two weeks, fell asleep to the steady rhythm of his pulse.

*  
/ \  
/   \

“Bones.” The whisper jerked me awake, and for a moment I forgot where I was. “Bones.” The ambient sounds of the sickbay slowly infiltrated my consciousness, soft beeps and quiet murmurs bringing me back to reality. “Bones, wake up! It’s Christmas!”

That’s right. A fucking three week coma couldn’t stop Jim Kirk from waking up early on Christmas.

“Jim, go back to sleep.”

“Apparently, I’ve been sleeping for a month.”

I rubbed a hand over my face. I was thrilled beyond belief that Jim was out of his coma. I was also exhausted. “Tell you what. You go to sleep for a few more hours, and I promise, when you wake up, I’ll marry ya.”

Jim made a contented sound and nestled a little more snugly against me. “Deal.”

*  
/ \  
/   \

I guess technically I’m the one who’d suggested the Christmas wedding, but the truth was, I’d been ready to marry Jim the moment I proposed, and the yearlong wait had nearly killed me. By Valentine’s Day I was begging him to elope, and I’d even tried sneakily dragging him to the Little Wedding Spa on Risa, but he’d seen right through me. He seemed to take a perverse enjoyment in insisting that we wait the entire year, all while referring to our twice-daily reamings as “wedding night rehearsal.”

And now the time had come. In true Jim Kirk fashion, not one damn thing had gone as planned, and yet here we were, about to get married on Christmas, just like he’d said we would.

“So, what are we going to wear?”

A month ago, we’d still been trying to decide between dress uniforms and tuxedos. Right now, scrubs sounded like a pretty good option to me.

Chapel approached us holding the wrapped packages that had been sitting on the bedside table for the past two days. “I think I may have something,” she said with a smile.

Jim’s grin lit up the room – 9:00 AM on Christmas morning, and he was already getting a present! – and he took the package eagerly from Christine’s hand. I took mine and together we tore the wrapping paper from our respective gifts to reveal two pairs of soft cotton pajama pants adorned with cartoon animals.

Jim laughed with delight. “Aw, Bones, look! Hedgehogs hanging Christmas lights! What’d you get?”

I looked at the pair I was holding. “Looks like, uh…dogs in sleds.”

“They’re _basset hounds_ in _toboggans_ ,” Christine corrected me tolerantly as Jim beamed at her with appreciation.

“Whatever,” I mumbled, but I was already heading toward my office to change.

By the time I got back, Christine had helped Jim change into his pajama pants and was supporting him as he sat cautiously on the edge of the bed. I thanked her and took her place, sliding an arm around Jim’s waist as he held tightly to my shoulders.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m fine, Bones,” he said, and I laughed because it was exactly what he _would_ say, even if I could feel his fingers shaking as they dug into my back.

“Sure ya are, Jimmy. Listen, we can stay here if you’re not feeling up to it. Spock and Uhura and Sulu are just waiting for my call and we can perform the ceremony here if you want.”

Jim looked at me with pleading eyes. “But the tree, Bones. I want to see it. The tinsel, and the presents. And the punch, and Gaila’s stupid fucking jingle bells. Maybe it won’t be like we planned, but it can still be everything we wanted.”

“All I want is you, Jim.”

Jim had the decency to look slightly sheepish. “Well, yeah, I mean, all I want is you, too, Bones. It’s just…”

I pressed my lips to his temple. “It’s Christmas. I know.” So maybe I’d always have to fight Christmas for the number one spot in Jim’s heart, but I had a feeling that if I just kept trying, maybe one day I would win.

Christine pushed a wheelchair up to the foot of the bed, and I flashed her a grateful look as I took it from her. “Alright,” I told Jim with a nod at the chair. “Get in.”

“I’ll walk.”

“You will not.” The biobed stimulator had been keeping his muscles from atrophying, but I knew he was still extremely weak.

Jim glanced nervously toward the door to the corridor. “I don’t want them to see me like this.”

I cracked a smile. “Jim, 75 percent of the people onboard this ship have seen you after finals at the Academy, and have therefore witnessed you _far_ more incapacitated than you are right now.”

“It’s different now,” he said seriously. “I’m the captain.” I love that can still detect notes of pride and glee in his voice when he says those words, beneath the tone that actually does command the respect of hundreds of Cadet Kirk’s former classmates and drinking buddies.

“Jim.” I leaned forward, tantalizingly close. He licked his lips, and in a soft, commanding voice I told him, “I don’t care if you want to call it a sleigh, whip me, and call me Prancer, but you are getting in that wheelchair right now, and we are going to go get hitched.”

His eyes widened. I could practically see his mind racing with the possibilities, just before he threw himself into my arms and let me set him gently in the chair.

*  
/ \  
/   \

In the end, I let him walk down the aisle. Of course I did. It wasn’t the first time I’d chosen those pleading blue eyes over my better medical judgment and – particularly if Jim ever got around to reading that Andorian poem - I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

I stood in the front of the rec room beside the tinsel-bedecked Christmas tree, wiping sweaty palms on my pajama pants and pretending my nerves and pounding heart were due to my concerns about Jim’s health. Then I caught his eye from across the room, where he was standing shakily, supported on either side by Sulu and Uhura, a Santa hat perched on his head. He grinned valiantly and gave me a wink that told me he knew exactly how I felt, comforting me from across the room as surely as an embrace.

Spock stood in the front, looking out of place in his dress uniform. But I had seen him hovering just outside the sickbay door over the past few weeks, had even caught him standing by Jim’s bedside a few times when he thought I wasn’t looking, and I could sense his relief. Not to mention, the absence of sarcastic comments questioning the foolish celebration of the holiday or archaic wedding traditions told me more than his stoic posture and impassive facial expression ever could.

A small, hastily organized chorus of cadets started up a beautiful rendition of “Oh Holy Night,” and Jim, Uhura, and Sulu started down the aisle. I could see sweat beading on Jim’s forehead with the effort, but I could also see the resolve in his eyes, the determination to pull this off, to make this happen like he had been imagining it for the past year, and probably well before that. Good god, we were only 30 seconds into the ceremony and I was already tearing up.

I concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths as they approached. Sulu winked at me before murmuring a few words in Jim’s ear. Jim gave Uhura a hug, and over the sound of my pounding heart I could hear the bastard whisper, “I know how hard it is for you to give me away.” Uhura narrowed her eyes, and I had to give her a stern glare to remind her that the captain was not quite up to being slapped yet – and he obviously knew it.

Jim took one unsteady step toward me on his own, and then he was beside me, my arm wrapped firmly around his waist, supporting him as he snuggled up against my side, perhaps a bit more closely than his condition required - not that I minded one bit.

“Thank you all for gathering together today to celebrate the love and commitment between two honorable and remarkable – if not always completely logical – men, Captain James T. Kirk and Chief Medical Officer Dr. Leonard McCoy. Many of us have been witness to the path of their relationship, beginning with their friendship at Starfleet Academy, where many contend that they were already in love with each other, though as yet unaware of it themselves.”

As one, Jim and I looked over at Uhura, who had clearly been the author of this little speech full of falsehoods and misinformation. She was beaming at Spock, and her face morphed into an expression of pure innocence when she caught us looking at her.

“We have seen their bond strengthen over the course of this mission, as they have found parts of themselves within each other-“ Jim snorted and Spock narrowed his eyes at Uhura as he realized the implications of what he had just said. Still, it’s to the man’s credit that he carried on. “And we have all benefited as they have grown together professionally, strengthened and supported each other, and shared themselves with us - indeed, many of us have been privy to perhaps a bit _too_ much insight into the more intimate moments of their relationship.” Spock looked at us, and I had a feeling his next words had _not_ been scripted. “Perhaps with matrimony will come a touch more discretion.” His eyes flicked over to Jim, and he seemed to sigh. “Perhaps, however, we cannot expect that a certificate and a ring will have such personality-altering effects.”

Jim and I were laughing and crying at the same time, simultaneously clutching at each other for support and holding each other up. Luckily, we’d reached the most important part.

“Please repeat after me. ‘I, James T. Kirk, take you Leonard McCoy…’”

Jim shifted in my arms so he could look into my eyes as he spoke his vows. “I, James T. Kirk, take you, Bones, to be my awesomely wedded husband. To have and to hold, to explore strange new worlds and new civilizations, to-“ He glanced at our audience and leaned forward to whisper a few salacious promises in my ear. When he pulled back, my face was approximately the color of his Santa hat. Then he swallowed and took on a more serious expression. “I have been, and always will be, yours.”

Fucking hell. I should have asked to go first. I sniffed, and Jim brought up a hand to wipe a tear from my cheek.

“I, Leonard McCoy, take you, Jim, to be my husband, my captain…my everything. To have and to hold, in sickness – which there’d better not be too much of, dammit – and health, in poetry and prose, on the ground or in the sky. And I promise, above all, to never spend another Christmas without you by my side.”

Now Jim was blinking away tears, and together we glanced up to see Uhura holding a sprig of mistletoe above our heads.

I certainly didn’t need any additional encouragement, and apparently neither did Jim. We pressed our lips together, and Jim thrust his tongue into my mouth with a renewed strength that came from no medical intervention of mine. I’d missed him so fucking much, and I returned his passion with a rather embarrassing amount of enthusiasm given the fact that we were standing at the front of a very crowded rec room.

As if from a distance, I heard Spock say, “Gentlemen…” Somehow Jim and I managed to rein ourselves in and pull away, though we were both out of breath, our cheeks flushed apple-red as we smiled stupidly at each other.

“Captain, Doctor. Leonard, Jim. With the crew of the Enterprise, our friends, as witnesses, and with the power invested in me by Starfleet, I now proclaim you married under the law, your official bond now as strong as the bond of love that already held you to each other. It is traditional to end the wedding ceremony with a blessing, but as I have become accustomed to our traditional Christmas celebrations on board the Enterprise, I have chosen an alternate benediction - ” Spock raised his hand in the ta’al – “May your future together be merry and bright. Good tidings to all, and to all a good night.”

We turned to walk back down the aisle and were greeted by the smiling, damp-eyed faces of our friends, clapping and whistling as the singers started up an impromptu chorus of “Deck the Halls.” Someone had the bright idea to toss handfuls of fake snow into the air in lieu of rice, and the flakes caught in my hair and shimmered on Jim’s eyelashes.

I felt happier and more loved than I ever had, like I was glowing from the inside – forcing me, for one brief moment, to wonder if the Christmas Spirit was actually some sort of alien being that had infected the entire ship.

Then Jim winked at me and leaned in close. “I don’t think I’m up for the candy cane quite yet, Bones, but what say we blow this gingerbread stand and take the party to our quarters.”

And I’d never moved as fast as I did then, sweeping him up into my arms and carrying him across the threshold of the rec room and into our future.

*  
/ \  
/   \

Our immediate future, of course, involved losing the pajama pants altogether and twining ourselves together beneath a thick pile of quilts in the familiar comfort of our bed.

“How’re you feeling?” I murmured.

“Mmmm.” Jim stretched and snuggled in against my side. “Everything is Christmas, and nothing hurts.”

I chuckled, then my expression sobered. I knew that what I was about to tell him _was_ going to hurt. “Jim, you know as your doctor I have to advise against any further physical exertion. You’ve already done more than you probably should have today.”

“Aww, Bones, marrying you wasn’t _that_ strenuous.”

“Hush. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jim pouted. “No Christmas orgasm.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. He had no idea how fucking sorry I was.

“S’okay. Can we consummate our marriage with cuddling?”

“Mm-hmm.” I kissed him softly and rested my head against his chest, letting him hold me.

“Just promise me we can use the candy cane later.”

“I promise.”

“More than once.”

“As many times as you want.”

“Can I use it on you?”

“You’d better.”

Jim was quiet for minute. I could practically feel him scrolling through the list of sexual fantasies in his head.

“So…does that offer to whip you and call you Dancer still stand?”

“I believe I specified Prancer. And we can talk.”

“Cupid?”

I rolled my eyes. “Please stop before you get to Vixen.”

My head rose and fell with his chest as he took a breath, and I felt his fingers gently carding through my hair. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “You’re Rudolph,” he whispered. “You guide me through the darkness.”

I nuzzled into him and grinned a secret grin. Then I propped my chin against his sternum to look up at him. “And you’re Comet,” I told him. “My shooting star.”

He smiled back at me. “And we are the two corniest motherfuckers ever to sail across the sky.”

“You shut your corny, gorgeous mouth.”

“Make me.”

I did, with a long, indulgent kiss that I didn’t want to end.

Of course, Jim had other ideas.

“Now, I may have still been dreaming, but did I hear you say something about inappropriate Andorian poetry?”

I groaned and nipped at his earlobe. “You were dreaming.”

“Really? Because I feel like, if such a thing did exist, there might be some good ideas in there.”

“Jim, we don’t even _have_ those parts!”

“You’d be amazed how resourceful I can be when it comes to exploring strange new kinks, and seeking out new sexual positions.”

It was true. I’d been amazed before, and I was pretty damn sure I’d be amazed again. Jim yawned before he could go into more detail and gave me a sheepish look.

“Sleep, Jim. You need it.” I could feel him relaxing in my arms. “I’ll be here,” I told him, as I had so many times in the past few weeks, only this time his eyes were open, watching me, blue and calm and bright.

“I know.” He yawned again and his eyelids fluttered shut. “You can rub up on me while I’m sleeping, if you want to.”

I smiled. “Mmm…might have to take you up on that.”

As tempting as it was with Jim’s warm body pressed up against mine, I knew I wouldn’t.

I could wait. I wouldn’t let all of those wedding night rehearsals go to waste. I’d spend the week making sure Jim got enough rest, enough nourishment, some physical therapy to get his body back up to speed.

And then, well…

Happy fucking New Year to us.

*  
/ \  
/   \

_The End_  


  



End file.
